“Gavin,” Noah said.
I dropped my hands and stepped away from Joe, but I was shaking with anger. His face was an icy mask, and when he looked at Noah, it was with pure loathing. But he was Joe, master of masking his feelings and remaining coldly neutral, so he took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, and the hatred vanished. He yanked the envelope from my hand.
“Mel will be here in a couple of hours. And the chef is on his way.”
Noah finished descending the stairs but stood away from both me and Joe. It looked like he’d scrubbed himself clean yet again, and had thrown on jeans and a flannel shirt. Without his glasses and with his hair slicked back, he looked younger. Which made the unease in his eyes all the more noticeable.
“I’ll get going,” he said. “I don’t want to get in the way.”
“I thought we already talked about this,” I said. “You said you would stay.”
“That was before . . .”
“Don’t leave on my account,” Joe said with a sneer. “It’s not my house. I’m just here for the football and Chef Turner’s turkey.”
Noah nodded slowly. He watched as Joe strode out of the room. “This is going to be bad, isn’t it?”
I sucked my teeth and tried to draw him close to me, but he resisted.
“Noah, don’t be that way. Who gives a fuck what Joe thinks?”
“You,” he said. “Even if you act like you don’t, you know it’s true. He’s been with you for almost eight years. And even though you grumble about him being a smarmy douchebag, he’s like family. Which is why you spend holidays with him.”
“We spend holidays together because no one else likes us,” I countered.
Noah just shook his head, not even cracking a smile. “I really think I should get the fuck out of here before Mel arrives. He’s going to tell her, and I don’t want to spend Thanksgiving feeling like everyone is glaring at my scarlet letter.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“I’m not being dramatic,” he said sharply. “I know what he thinks of me. And now that I know you’re bi, I bet he never wanted me for this position because he was afraid of exactly what he walked in on.”
“Yeah, and that doesn’t matter. You’re here, we’re fucking, and he can’t change that. It’s fine.” I snagged his arm and succeeded in pulling him to me. “We’re fine. All right?”
Noah pursed his lips and nodded stiffly. I rubbed his back, hoping to ease the tension, but he leaned away from me as if me touching his flannel was somehow worse than Joe watching our comeplay.
“I’m trying to be optimistic here,” I said. “Can you throw a motherfucker a bone? I want to spend this day with you. Please don’t make me beg.”
“Sorry.” Noah melted against me. After a tiny pause, he even drew me into a quick hug. All wiry arms and tightly clenching hands as the smell of him surrounded me and I got a chance to inhale his clean hair. “I’m just worried.”
“Don’t be. We’re fine.”
Noah didn’t look convinced of that, but he stopped fighting and followed me into the living room. I tried not to let it bother me that he sat as far away from me as possible. As long as he was here, I would take what I could get.
***
Noah
Chef Turner prowled the kitchen like a machine. Stirring, roasting, chopping, sautéing, baking, and making the kind of Thanksgiving I’d never seen before. Holidays in the Monroe household had consisted of a roasted bird that hadn’t been basted enough, stuffing that was a little too burnt on the outside, mashed potatoes without enough butter, and frozen corn. And we were all suckers for Entenmann’s pumpkin pie.
People always shamed us for our love of Entenmann’s, but it was our thing and we liked it. But that had been back when I was a kid, before my mother had finally decided to end my parents’ mostly platonic marriage and try to find something that would make her happy. Now they were long-distance friends, and I’d spent Thanksgiving either eating turkey sandwiches with my dad or flying out to see my mom so I could choke down the Tofurkey she’d taken to preparing.
This was the first year I was without family, and I missed it. I missed them.
I wondered if that yearning would have been as strong if I’d been able to spend the day alone with Gavin. Sometimes this place felt like home to me, especially when he dozed off in the bed with me. But now, with a chef and a staff of helpers scurrying, and with Mel and Joe talking shop in the living room with Gavin, it was clear I didn’t belong. This wasn’t my home.
So I stayed in the kitchen with the cooks and tried to help. Unfortunately, they seemed irritated by my presence so I banished myself to the office and wondered if I could get an airline associate on the phone. With Joe willing me to sink into a hole in the floor, it was a better idea to stay the hell out of the way.
Or was it?
Every time I pictured Gavin’s face when he’d admitted to never spending his holidays with someone who’d just wanted to be with him, I felt like an asshole for hiding. For letting Joe run me off. And for being ashamed to have been in the bed with him. Was it really so bad? Was I really so fucking awful? Was liking him something to be ashamed of, just because I was his employee for a few months? My head said yes, but the way my pulse raced when we were together made it plain as day that every other part of my body wanted to scream no.
I went back into the living room. Joe glared, but Gavin smiled. It was a little-boy-on-Christmas-morning smile. Surprised and happy.
God, what the hell was he doing to me? He’d gone from growling every time I walked in the wrong direction to looking at me like I’d hung the moon. And it was only my guardedness and paranoia that kept me from looking at him the exact same way.
“Noah, take the day off from working, for God’s sake,” Mel said after setting eyes on me. “You’re missing the game.”
I looked at the available seats. Joe and Gavin were on opposite ends of the same part of the sectional, and Mel had perched on the loveseat. It seemed wiser to sit next to her.
“What’s the score?”
“0-7. Marcus just scored a touchdown,” Mel said. “Rushed sixty yards.”
“Holy shit. Did they already show a replay?”
“Yeah, but it will come on again. It was a damn good moment.” Mel shook her head. “His athleticism is awesome.”
“Too bad Tony Donahue snapped him up before you did,” Joe commented between giving me side eyes. “You’d have been able to represent the Three Musketeers.”
They started talking business, and I tuned them out. For all that I had developed a passing interest in football in the last couple of months, discussing players’ salaries still made me uncomfortable. Especially since I was starting to view professional football as a trade-off between their health and money. It was something Gavin talked about more than he probably realized, and it’d slowly become my concern as well.